Late Eclipses od-4

by Seanan McGuire

  “October?” Sylvester strode onto the practice grounds, with Garm and Etienne close behind him. All three of them stopped, Sylvester’s eyes going wide. “You really found her.”

  Oleander didn’t acknowledge their arrival. “You don’t know how much you paid. Silly little bitch. You should’ve stayed in the pond. You should …” She coughed, blood foaming on her lips. “You should have taken the death I offered; at least it was yours alone. You could have ended the verses, then and there. How many times before your traitor’s blood gets it right?”

  I stood. Sylvester put a hand on my shoulder, stopping me from stepping forward. “No,” he said. “Don’t let her goad you.”

  “It’s not like I was planning to help her,” I muttered.

  Oleander snorted. “I wouldn’t take aid from you if you offered it. Never from you, daughter of Amandine, last and latest child of the great betrayal. You’ll see the end of us all, and you won’t be content until you know the gates are locked and sealed; your own death will refuse you. You’ll destroy your beginnings and forsake your heart’s desire, and there will be nothing for you but what’s already been turned aside …” Her voice trailed off. She sighed one last time before falling to one side, suddenly still.

  We stood in that tableau for several minutes, staring at the body. It was almost like coming in at the middle of the movie; none of us knew what to say or how we were supposed to react.

  Finally, I asked, “Is it over?”

  Sylvester’s hand tightened on my shoulder, and he nodded. “I hope so.”

  “Good.” I paused. “Am I still going to be executed?”

  He smiled before answering, “That’s a good question.”

  Connor lowered his bow and moved to stand beside me, sliding his hand into mine. Sylvester nodded, seeming to accept this gesture as being the right thing to do. Grianne’s Merry Dancers zipped through the open door, circling around us as we turned and walked back into the hall. I listened the whole time for the sound of the night-haunts’ wings. I’ve heard them often enough that the sound is familiar. Soothing, even, in its messed-up way.

  They were just beginning to beat when the door closed behind us, sealing the sound—and Oleander, one of Faerie’s most glorious monsters—away.

  THIRTY-SIX

  I STOOD ON THE LUIDAEG’S DOORSTEP with one hand raised to knock, unable to force myself to finish the motion. Oleander had been dead for ten days, and the only person who could give me the answers I needed was on the other side of that door. I just wasn’t sure they were answers I could live with.

  The door opened before I was done arguing with myself. The Luidaeg’s familiar, sun-weathered face poked out. “Well?” she demanded. “Are you coming in or not?”

  “I’m coming,” I said. She moved out of the way, motioning me impatiently forward, and I stepped inside.

  The Luidaeg isn’t one of the world’s great housekeepers. She seems to enjoy living in squalor, allowing mold to grow on her walls and trash to build up on her floor. Still, there’s usually at least a pretense of organization to the place—decaying pillows on the couch, soda cans and dishes in the kitchen. Not this time. Most fae celebrate Beltane with spring cleaning. The Luidaeg appeared to have celebrated with spring destruction.

  “What—”

  She cut me off with a gesture. “Don’t.” I looked at her blankly. She shook her head. “This isn’t a social visit; we both know that. That means you don’t get an unlimited supply of questions, so let’s not fuck around. Got me?” I nodded mutely. “Good. Now drop the masks. I need to see how far she took it.”

  Taking a deep breath, I did as she requested.

  If the Luidaeg was surprised by the way I looked, she did an admirable job of not showing it. Her eyes narrowed slightly, but that was all. That tiny gesture could have meant almost anything. “How’s your magic been?”

  “Good. Things seem to be coming a little easier.”

  “That’s about what I figured. Congrats, kiddo, you’re finally back to where you started. Why’d it take you so long to come and see me? I expected you the minute I heard what happened.”

  “How did you—” I stopped myself. Knowing how the Luidaeg heard about my blood being rebalanced didn’t matter as much as some of my other questions. Curiosity and necessity don’t always match. “I crashed as soon as things calmed down. I slept for six days.” You’d think my body would be used to my doing horrible things to it, but when the adrenaline faded, I faded with it.

  “Yeah, well, you put yourself through a hell of a lot. That takes care of six days. What about the other four?”

  “I had to find a safe way to get here. The Queen’s still a little annoyed.”

  The Luidaeg snorted. “Right. So you got here by … ?”

  “Waiting for Acacia to show up and then asking her to open a Rose Road.” That wasn’t my first choice. My first choice was the Shadow Roads, preferably with Tybalt as my escort; we needed to talk. Unfortunately, the Cat’s Court was still in chaos, and now that I wasn’t in danger of dying, I wasn’t a priority. Tybalt and I needed to have that talk. We were just going to have it later than I liked.

  The rose goblins went for Acacia as soon as Luna was recovered enough to open a gate for them, and Acacia did more for her daughter in a few hours than anyone else had managed in days. The Firstborn are handy that way. I just wish we’d been able to reach her sooner.

  “Good call.” The Luidaeg tipped her chin down, studying me. “Three questions, and then you have to go. Don’t waste a question asking why it works that way. It just does.”

  “Faerie and her traditions, fucking up my life since time immemorial.” I sighed. “All right, Luidaeg. I know I’m not Daoine Sidhe. What does that make me?”

  “It makes you my sister’s daughter.”

  I gaped at her. “I … you … what?”

  She ignored my second question, continuing, “My father named your race before he left; he called you the Dóchas Sidhe. You’re blood-workers. You must have figured that part out. Beyond that? What you’re for, why Faerie needed you? I can’t say.”

  “Can’t say, or don’t know?”

  “Ah.” The Luidaeg glanced away, but I saw her smile. “I bet you asked that without counting questions, didn’t you? Congrats. Your impulsiveness isn’t wasted for a change. I can’t say. I’m not allowed, just like I’m not allowed to answer more than three questions today. Don’t ask who made the rules. You’ll find out soon enough.”

  “I hate riddles,” I said, still staggered by her statement. Amandine was Firstborn. I wasn’t just “not Daoine Sidhe,” I was the daughter of one of the Firstborn.

  That explained a lot, actually.

  “Sorry,” said the Luidaeg, unapologetically.

  I took a deep breath, and asked the one thing I really needed to know: “Luidaeg, why did my mother lie to me?”

  “Fuck, Toby, you just can’t ask the easy ones, can you?” The question had the bitter lilt of the rhetorical; she didn’t expect an answer, and I didn’t give one. Sighing, the Luidaeg said, “She lied because she was trying to save you.”

  “From what?” I asked, before I could stop myself.

  Offering a small, warning shake of her head, she continued, “There are things in Faerie that don’t like your mother much, and they don’t like you either, because you’re the last one left to play heir for her. Sorry. She tried to spare you. First by changing your blood to make you mortal before anyone knew you existed, and then by lying about your heritage. You’d always be weak if you considered yourself Daoine Sidhe. Your race doesn’t have any of Titania’s blood, and she’s the mother of illusions. But if you knew yourself, if you knew what you could do …”

  “So she lied to me?” This time, I was the one asking the rhetorical question.

  “She thought she was doing the right thing,” said the Luidaeg, tone off-handed enough to make it plain that she wasn’t answering me; just making an observation. “Amandine was never the most st
able of my siblings, and that’s saying a lot. Faerie wasn’t kind to her. She thought getting you out was the best thing she could do for you.”

  “I … ” I paused. I would have agreed wholeheartedly with Amandine’s decision to turn me human not that long ago. Maybe not after Evening died—I gave back the hope chest, I’d like to think I would’ve been together enough to tell my mother “no”—but before that? Before the pond? I would have told Sylvester thanks but no thanks for a place in his service, told Devin I had a way out, and gone off to live happily ever after in the mortal world.

  If I’d done that … Rayseline would still have lost her mind. Evening would still have died. Blind Michael’s Ride would still have taken the children. And I wouldn’t have been there to do anything about any of it.

  The Luidaeg sighed at my expression. “She did the best she could. It was fucked-up and wrong for you, but it was still the best she could do. Don’t get me wrong,” she raised a hand, palm turned toward me, “I’m not a fan of Amandine’s. She and I have some old issues. But mothers are allowed to make mistakes.”

  If I’d been human, I wouldn’t have left my own daughter behind. Mothers make mistakes. “Luidaeg—”

  She shook her head. “No. You’ve had three questions, and as much wiggle room as I can give you. Now’s the time where you get the fuck out of here. Besides, you still look like hammered shit. Go get some sleep. You’re staying at Shadowed Hills?”

  “I am.” I dug a hand into my pocket, coming up with a fistful of red-black rose petals that glowed with their own interior light. “Acacia gave me a ticket back for when we were finished here.”

  “How sweet of her. I have a detour for you to make before you go back.”

  I eyed her warily as I tucked the petals back in my pocket. “Define ‘detour.’ ”

  “Detour. A word meaning ‘I’m Firstborn, and I could kick your ass without thinking about it, so how about you just go along with me and nobody gets hurt.’” A corner of the Luidaeg’s mouth tipped upward in the semblance of a smile. “If all my nieces and nephews were as stubborn as you, Faerie would have a much larger under-population problem, because I would never have let them live to breed.”

  “You say the sweetest things,” I said blandly. “All right. Where am I going?”

  “Through here.” She turned and opened the door to her kitchen closet, displaying rotting mops and ancient canned goods. I raised an eyebrow. She glanced into the closet, said, “Whoops,” and closed the door, pausing a moment before opening it again.

  The closet was gone. The doorway opened on the familiar greens of Lily’s knowe. I could see figures in the distance, clustered around one of the pavilions that seemed to crop up there like mushrooms after the rain. I looked at the Luidaeg. She nodded.

  “Right,” I said, and offered a wan smile. “So I’ll see you later.”

  “After you’ve dealt with the Queen, you come and see me again. Just make sure it’s not for at least a week. I’ve got shit to do.”

  “Luidaeg … ” I hesitated. “Is everything all right?”

  The whites of her eyes darkened for a moment, almost vanishing against the ordinary brown of her irises. She blinked and her eyes were normal again; normal, and sad. “Nothing in this world is ever all the way right, October,” she said quietly. “Now get out of here. There are people you need to be looking after.”

  “Right,” I repeated, and stepped through the door.

  There was no real moment of transition, no distortion or disorientation. It was as easy as stepping through a normal doorway, if you discount the fact that walking through a normal doorway doesn’t usually result in quite that extreme a change in temperature. The Luidaeg’s apartment was warm and dry. Lily’s knowe was moist, and cold enough to border on clammy. I stopped where I was, taking an uneasy breath as I realized what the change in temperature meant.

  Lily was gone. And with her out of the picture, the knowe—which had always been sustained almost entirely by her unique sort of magic—was dying.

  Marcia spotted me before I trudged more than halfway across the mossy expanse between my point of arrival and the pavilion. She came racing down the pavilion steps, looking small and frazzled in her oversized, obviously secondhand sweater. “Toby! You’re alive!”

  “Hey, Marcia,” I said. “Yeah, I’m alive. I’ve just been in hiding. Still am, sort of. I’m not quite ready to cope with the Queen yet. How’s everybody here?”

  “Cold,” said Walther, exiting the pavilion at a more sedate pace and walking out to join us. “Hello, October. How are you?”

  “I think we’ve already established ‘alive’ as the important thing. How far has the temperature dropped?”

  “Far enough. Some of the outlying ponds have already blended back into nothing. It won’t be long now.”

  Marcia looked between the two of us, expression openly perplexed. Poor kid. My education was acquired in drips and drabs, either spoon-fed to me by Devin to prepare me for a job or offered up by Sylvester when he realized there was something I needed to know. That was still probably a lot more education than Marcia ever got.

  Shadowed Hills was built. Hands shaped it out of the stone and earth of the Summerlands; spells were cast to shore up the walls and define the grounds. Undine don’t build their knowes that way. Undine tie themselves to springs in the mortal realm, and become springs in the fae realm, channeling not water, but the fabric of their personal homes. Without Lily to channel the magic that made her knowe real, it was fading.

  “What’s going on?” she asked. “What are you talking about?”

  There were a lot of things I could have said. I considered them all, and decided on the hardest thing of all: the truth. “Lily’s gone,” I said. “The knowe’s dying.”

  Marcia’s eyes widened, the color going out of her cheeks. In the end, she didn’t cry. She just nodded, shoulders slumping. “I was afraid you’d say something like that,” she said. “Isn’t there … isn’t there anything you can do?”

  A choice needed to be made. I could tell her “no.” I could tell her I’d done everything I could to take care of them, I had problems of my own, I had the Queen of the Mists gunning for me and a possible death sentence hanging over my head. I could tell her Lily couldn’t possibly have thought I could really save them.

  “Yeah,” I said, looking from her to Walther. He was smiling like the sun. “Has either of you ever been to Goldengreen?”

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  “WILL OCTOBER DAYE, COUNTESS of Goldengreen, knight errant of Shadowed Hills, please stand forth?”

  The herald’s voice was cold. I swallowed as I rose and approached the throne, trying to chase the dryness from my throat. My shoes pinched my feet, making me stumble. It could’ve been worse. I could’ve been wearing heels.

  It had been almost three weeks since we ran Oleander to ground: three weeks of sleepless days and anxious nights spent waiting to see what was coming next. Oleander was Simon’s constant companion. If she was there, he should’ve been there, too. But the days passed, and Simon never appeared.

  There was no sign of Rayseline. Sylvester looked, but his heart wasn’t really in it—he didn’t want to fight his own daughter, and I couldn’t blame him. It was a fight I was happy to delay, because I was sure that if we found her, we’d find Simon; snakes den together. I wondered if he knew what he’d created when he set out to break his niece. Oleander certainly hadn’t. She’d been surprised as she died, amazed that something she’d helped to craft could really be that unreservedly, killingly cruel.

  That’s the thing about children: they pay attention, and they learn. Raysel learned coldness, cruelty, and how to kill. Teaching her those lessons may have been the most foolish thing Oleander ever did, and more than ever, I was glad she’d paid for what she’d done. Sylvester and Luna didn’t deserve this.

  Neither did Rayseline. She was an innocent when Oleander took her, and she’d never had a chance to come all the way home. Now she never wo
uld. It wasn’t really a surprise when Saltmist sent a herald to announce the formal dissolution of the diplomatic marriage between Rayseline and Connor. Marrying one of your dignitaries to a madwoman was one thing; marrying him to a murderess was something else entirely.

  The Queen has never been a patient woman, and the wolves were at Sylvester’s door long before I made my visit to the Luidaeg or moved Lily’s subjects into the deserted front hall of Goldengreen. Sylvester did his best to shield me from the trouble she was causing him. I heard, instead, that Connor was going to be resuming his diplomatic post within the Duchy, that Luna’s health was improving steadily, and that May and Quentin had broken six vases and a crystal ball trying to play hockey in the solarium.

  And then one day, I heard that Luna was out of bed.

  Jin called Walther a godsend. He was a chemist, not a healer, but his understanding of plants and poisons made it possible for her to take proper care of Luna until Acacia could get there. He told Jin what Luna needed, and Jin made it happen, pulling Luna back from the edge of whatever abyss she’d been facing. Her stolen Kitsune skin was gone, but she would recover. Somehow, watching Sylvester cry as he folded her back into his arms, I thought her recovery was the only thing that mattered.

  Sylvester found me in the Garden of Glass Roses two days after Luna woke up. I was plucking the petals from a frosted pink rose and dropping them to the path, listening to the crystalline chimes they made when they landed. He sat beside me, tucking his hands between his knees in an almost guilty posture.

  “Hey,” I said, putting the flower down.

  “The Queen’s guard was here today,” he said. “She knows you’re here, Toby. She’s not … the Queen is not a stupid woman, and she knows we’re hiding you.” He paused. “She’s known for a while.”

  “I’d be more surprised if she didn’t.” I wasn’t frightened anymore—just numb. Everything ends. Lily’s people were safe in Goldengreen. I’d done what I needed to do. “Are they still here? I can go with them.”